


Daddy

by MortemGrimalkinMessor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Family Issues, Heavily Implied Tomarry, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Multi, Parseltongue, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16902201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortemGrimalkinMessor/pseuds/MortemGrimalkinMessor
Summary: “You killed him.” Her voice was dark and slick, like sparkling oil. “You took my daddy from me,Harry. The least you can do is take up the torch.”Delphi has daddy issues. It's Harry's fault, of course, Delphi knows that. But she didn't expect for him to look so much like her.





	Daddy

**Author's Note:**

> This is all kinds of all over the place. I’ve never read the Cursed Child. I read half of the summary, saw Delphi was Voldemort’s daughter, flipped my shit, and then...this happened.

"Harry Potter."

His name slid slickly past black cherry lips. Harry shuddered and readjusted his grip on his wand, eyes narrowed. Delphini Diggory-Lestrange-Riddle gazed at him from in front of the only exit in the room. It was dim and bathed in velvety crimson.

Harry had no idea where he was. One moment he’d been walking with Teddy through the park, then everything had gone dark and he’d woken up here. With _Her_.

This girl with black lips, shock white hair with faded azure tips, dark eyes, and cruel intentions. Those eyes. _His_ eyes. Tom Riddle’s eyes. Harry cringed away from them, a thought in his head that it was strange that they repulsed him so much more than they had when they’d been a deep, bloody red. Perhaps it was the notion that Riddle had been human once. Harry didn’t like thinking of him as anything but a monster no matter how he looked; it made it easier to sleep at night.

But here, in front of him, in the flesh, living, breathing—proof that Tom Riddle had once been undeniably _human_. Harry’s stomach churned.

Delphi’s lips twisted up into an elegant smirk, and she waved a hand absently to the side as she advanced towards Harry. His wand went flying across the room, yanked from his hand so suddenly that it startled him. He let out a very manly noise of shock as he scrambled back away from Delphi, who tipped her head at him, smug, but did not back down.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, Harry Potter.” She whispered.

Harry clenched his fists, palms damp with anxiety, and glanced around the room for an escape.

Red walls, scarlet carpet, crimson bed hangings, and a sanguine sofa next to an onyx fireplace. No windows, and the only door was behind Delphi, who seemed too content to watch him. Amused, like a cat would watch a mouse scrabble around just before pouncing on it and ending its pitiful life.

“Yeah?” Harry licked his lips, mouth dry. “Sorry to say that I haven’t been missing you at all. Nor your creepy, obsessive shite, for that matter.” He shot back, falsely snide.

She let out a tinkling, girlish giggle that had Harry blinking in surprise. It was a pretty sound; the tinkle of shattered glass against ice, the chime of silver faerie bells. She came closer, darks eyes wide with excitement that almost looked childish. “Surely you can stand to talk with me for a bit? I promise I’ll let you go after I’ve gotten what I wanted.”

Harry’s back met the wall, and he jolted at the realization that he’d unwittingly trapped himself between this vixen and the wall of his current prison. Delphi stopped just before him, a deep breath and they’d be touching. She looked up at him. Up this close, he could see the different motley shades in her eyes; they seemed to shift and fade from black to blue to the barest hint of the darkest wine red. It was mesmerising. Harry looked away.

“What, exactly, do you want?”

Delphi grinned, her teeth as white as her hair against the backdrop of those dark lips. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” She splayed a pale hand across his chest, just above his heart. Her grin deepened at the panicked flutter of it beneath her palm. “Are you afraid of me, Harry?”

“No.” Harry hissed through clenched teeth, jaw tight. He grunted as those lithe fingers abruptly constricted and dug sharp nails into his chest.

“ _Liesss_.” Delphi purred, but— _oh_. Harry hadn’t heard Parseltongue in so long. It was a sibilant caress against his ears, and his lips parted almost instinctively to respond. His eyes widened and he abruptly clamped his lips shut. Delphi caught it, the barest flicker of recognition, of _want_. She laughed, delighted. “ _Yes, Harry Potter. I ssspeak my father’s tongue. I ssspeak **our** tongue._”

“No,” Harry gasped, abruptly deprived of air. Something sultry and ugly was wrapping around his chest and constricting, his lungs crushed beneath the force of it. “No. No, the horcrux in me was destroyed, I can’t—“

“Did you really think,” Delphi trilled, thankfully in English. “That living with it attached to you for so long, that it would be like ripping off a bandaid? That you could come away unharmed—clean? No, my father’s soul was entwined with yours from near the day you were born. You grew up with him inside of you, your own soul growing around that fragment until it was a part of you as much as it was him. You miss it, don’t you?” She leaned forward and grabbed his jaw with her other hand to turn his head. Midnight lips pressed against his ear. “ _The Parseltongue. The connection. The purpossse._ ” She murmured against the curve of his jaw.

“You miss Him.”

Harry’s eyes flashed, wild. “And you don’t?”

Delphi froze. Those dark eyes crashed up into his like the flat of a sword. In that moment, all walls were down, all bets were off, and it was just both of them, laid bare before each other, each tormented by their irrational grief for the same man. It was feverish and rugged and raw.

“Yes.” She rasped after an indiscernible amount of time. “I miss him so much. And I never even got to meet him.” She sounded choked.

Harry reached up and wrapped his hand around her wrist. “That wasn’t my fault.” He gently pried Delphi’s hand from his chest. “Voldemort was not a kind man. You must’ve been old enough to realize then, that it was his choice—"

Delphi’s grip on his face tightened. “No.”

“To leave you with the Rowle’s. To never glimpse you,”

“Stop it.”

Harry plowed on, “To leave you feeling just like he did. Like an _orphan_. He chose this life for you.”

“Shut up!” Delphi screamed as she yanked him forward just to slam him back into the wall. His skull cracked painfully against the wall and stars spotted his vision. Her chest heaved against his, fury strung high in her muscles.

Harry drew in a ragged breath, light headed. “He left you with nothing. He left with you with a name and a legacy. Same as me. Because he didn’t care, Delphini. He never cared about anyone but himself.”

Delphi went abruptly still, her grip now alarmingly slack. “My father loved me.” She whispered after a moment, face blank. “I was pushed away because I would’ve become a weakness.”

“Is that really what Bellatrix told you?” Harry laughed.

“Besides,” She continued as if he hadn’t spoken, that sly smirk coming back to her lips. “You miss him just as much, don’t you, Harry? Feels like part of you is missing, doesn’t it? You have no purpose anymore, not without him. What is a Chosen One without a Dark Lord to vanquish? What are you without Voldemort, Harry Potter?”

“I never wanted this!” Harry roared at the insinuation. “I didn’t ask to be thrust into the spotlight as soon as I stumbled into this damn world. All I ever wanted was to be normal—to be happy. And no matter what I feel now, it doesn’t matter. _He’sss dead_.” The last sentence roiled out in a familiar hiss that had his eyes widening in shock as soon as it slipped out of his mouth.

Delphi’s eyes lit up, ecstatic. She practically clawed her way up his chest to latch her claws into the nape of his neck. “ _Yesss. There it is._ ”

Something icy and prickly wound up his spine: dread. Something else, something hot and dark, roared in triumph just beneath his ribcage before prowling further inwards like a stalking chimera. Horror wrecked Harry’s face, and the response was instinctive, desperate. “No.”

Wild ivory curls flew through the air as Delphi tossed her head back and laughed. “ _Oh yes, little Gryffindork. He still resssides within you. You clung to him ssso tightly that he has permanently ssstained you._ ”

Harry swallowed, and he felt his pulse spike in panic when he saw those dark, dangerous eyes follow the movement of his adam’s apple. He steeled himself and clenched his fists, eyes narrowed at the girl in front of him. “What do you want, Delphini?”

It seemed that struck a chord with Delphi, as she paused for a moment before blinking, as if she’d just remembered what she supposed to be doing. She was so close to him, pressed up against him as she was, as if trying to meld into him and reach for the last piece of her father within, that Harry could feel her heartbeat echo through his own chest. For a single, nauseating, dizzying second, their hearts beat in sync. A march to the same drum, so to speak.

Harry cringed and tried to press further back into the wall, away from her. Delphi wasn’t having it, however, and dug her fingers into his neck to keep him where he was. She let out a pleased noise, a devious smile curled on her lips. “I thought it would be obvious, at this point.”

“If it was I wouldn’t have asked.” Harry ground out, voice strangled. He let out a choked gasp as she pressed her thumbs deeply into his jugular, just for a moment, and then giggled ominously.

“You killed him.” Her voice was dark and slick, like sparkling oil. “You took my daddy from me, _Harry_ ,” Delphi hissed as she clawed her fingers through his hair. “The least you can do is take up the torch.” It was a dulcet purr, a dizzy mix of Riddle’s suave tone and something else entirely. Something organic. Something _human._

Harry’s stomach rolled, revulsion engrained so deeply in his mind that he nearly had an aneurysm when he felt her hand trail down his chest and play with the button on his jeans.

“You’re sick.” Harry choked out. He reached up to shove at her shoulders, to give himself some space to bloody _breathe_. Before he could touch her, his hands were twisted and slammed above his head by the same invisible force that had ripped his wand out of his hand.

Those sultry eyes blinked innocently up at him, a sweet smile twisted on her mouth. “Aren’t you curious? To see if, like this at least, you can _feel_ him? Just once more?” She popped the button on his jeans and dragged the zipper down slowly, torture. “Because I can. I can already feel him, buried so deep inside of you,” She purred, breathless. She watched, fascinated, as color erupted across Harry’s cheeks and stained down his neck, the splash of red somehow accenting his oh-so- _fetching_ green eyes. Delphi swiped her tongue across her bottom lip and rolled her hips into his. “Don’t you want to see if you can feel him too? _Inssside of me?_ ”

The noise Harry made in response was delectable. It made Delphi wonder, just for a moment, if this was something her father would’ve considered. If his obsession with the enigma in front of her extended to wanting to see him bent and prostrated beneath him.

Harry’s was drowning. In shame, in heat, in Delphi herself, because she was just so damn suffocating. She gasped softly and grinned when he felt himself twitch at her ministrations.

“You _do_.”

“No,” Harry spat as he struggled to wrench his hand away from the wall. “I don’t want anything to do with you. When I get out of here I’m going to have you thrown in Azkaban—” Harry sucked in a breath as her hand left his face to reach down and press curious fingers into the seam of his jeans.

“Well, with a threat like that, how could I possibly let you go?” Delphi drawled with a sly smirk. She hummed and trailed her fingertips back up until she came to now ajar fly. Before Harry could so much as breathe, she’d snaked her hand beneath his boxers and gripped him tight.

The heat of her palm shoved a sharp gasp from Harry’s lips, somehow so soft and so searing at the same time. His cock quickly brought itself to attention at her touch. Her laugh was somehow wild and low, a perfect mix of Bellatrix’s earsplitting cackle and Tom Riddle’s condescending chuckle. Harry’s hips jerked into her touch before he could realize what he was doing. “Oh _fuck_.” Harry hissed, breath strained. His mind was spluttering and flickering in and out of focus like a television with a bad connection. Her hands felt startlingly, shamefully right around him, and he had the sudden, blind, mindless thought that she’d been _made_ for him. Which was, of course, so ridiculous that it made him sick to think of it.

Delphi’s other hand slid and grasped his hip to hold them still. “Oh _Harry_ ,” She breathed. She drew a nail up the underside of his length and relished his resulting shudder. “You certainly do not disappoint.”

‘ _Well I damn well hope not,_ ’ Harry thought sardonically, before he could stop himself. Then he flushed and grit his teeth.

She stroked him once more, agonizingly slow, every brush of her skin like a brush of strong static. Like leftover lightning after a violent thunderstorm, the energy that crackles just after the initial strike, just before the thunder starts. It sparked across his skin—not enough, not enough, not right, but better than nothing—and sent his already frazzled mind into a right tizzy. Delphi hummed as he subconsciously arched into her touch, then pulled her hand away to gesture over at the primly made bed on the far wall.

Harry yelped as his body was lifted up and floated over to the bed, where he was dropped unceremoniously onto the duvet. His hands were still restrained above his head, and he licked his lips in anticipation, however guilty.

He wanted, he wanted…

Harry didn’t have a damn clue what he wanted.

Delphi roved her eyes of his prone form, as if trying to devour him whole with just her gaze. She looked like some sort of starved, wild feline, and he was a wounded woodland animal she wanted to sink her teeth into so badly it was physically painful.

She stalked forward, a graceful prowl that was entirely her own, and stopped just beside the bed where he lay. She bit her lip, contemplative, then toed off her punkish boots and rid herself of her jacket before slinking onto the bed herself. She slid up next to him on her knees, then rucked her hands up under his shirt. She splayed her hands briefly out over his clavicles, entranced, then yanked his shirt the rest of the way off. Pale, scarred skin was bared to those dark, hungry eyes. Tom Riddle’s eyes. Harry swallowed.

To have those eyes trained on him like that, it sent a not entirely unpleasant shiver up his spine. To have them back on him, in any form, but especially like this, it made his toes curl. He would gladly take what he could get, and as much as he should’ve been disgusted, _was_ disgusted…

He was aroused. Harry Potter was utterly and terribly aroused by the sight of Delphini Riddle looking at him like he was a fine piece of meat.

Delphi’s breathed hitched as she drank in the sight of Harry’s chest, pale and lithe and wrecked with scars. How many of these had been fatal? How many of these had been wrought by her father’s hand? She let out a soft moan and leaned forward to press her mouth against a deep set ridge just above his heart.

“I want to break open your chest, Harry Potter.” She lamented, her voice near drunk. “I want to crawl inside your heart and live between your ribs.”

Harry’s cock jumped, unbidden, at the words. They were so wrong, so disturbing, but they felt like butterflies in stomach, sweet nothings whispered in his ear in the dead of night. He yearned for, for…

He was distracted from his train of thought by Delphi quickly ridding him of his shoes and divesting him of his jeans and pants with the fervor of a girl obsessed. Which she was, but her obsession was different, Harry supposed. Was she truly obsessed with him, or was she merely enamored by the chance that she might get to know part of her father after all? Even if the only way to do so was to be...intimate, with Harry, the man who’d ended her father’s life.

“You’re brilliant.” Delphi mouthed into his skin, voice low. “Such a beautiful vessel. Yes, I understand now. It _had_ to be you. You had to be the one to carry his soul. There is no one else so exquisite, so strong, so worthy.” Her words were a prayer, reverence seared into his skin so deeply that he could feel it in his bones.

Harry didn’t get the chance to respond, the words stolen from his tongue as Delphi leaned back and pulled off her own shirt to toss it aside. She was all soft curves and lean muscle, evidence of vigorous training and yet not a single callous graced her hands.

It occured to Harry that he was completely starkers in front of her, this girl who held all of the power, who was now far more invested in limiting the layers between their skin than she was Harry’s plight.

She tossed her clothes aside without a care, then turned her attention back to him. His eyes were on her, unable to look away. Pale, pristine skin stretched like an expanse of desert before him, her toes painted as black as her fingernails, and as she leaned closer to him to run her hands back over his body, he could see that her belly button was pierced, a solid ring of silver in the shape of a snake biting its own tail, a ruby pushed into the eye socket.

“Worthy.” Harry croaked, mouth dry. He grunted when she smoothed a palm down his happy trail and drug the pad of her middle finger up his cock to dig her nail lightly into the slit.

“But of course,” Delphi sighed as she leaned down to press her mouth to his abdomen. “I suppose it’s fitting, Mr. Saviour, but you are…” She paused to run her tongue over the scar of a particularly nasty Severing charm that really should’ve killed him. “... _Godly_.”

It was an uncomfortable notion, one that Harry wanted to bury so deeply that it would never see the light of day.

Delphi hummed, placed her hands on his stomach once more, and then hauled herself up to straddle him. He flinched when he felt her shift her hips back so that her muff was situated just along his prick. She sucked in a breath, as if startled, and Harry’s eyes widened.

“Oh God,” He breathed, abruptly stricken. “You’re a virgin.”

She scowled at him briefly, petulant, and slid so that he was nestled snugly between her labia. He felt his face flush and jerked. She smirked vindictively at him and rocked her hips forward just a bit to catch the head of his cock on her hymen. “Can you blame me for wanting to save myself for you?”

Harry snarled and tried to wriggled backwards on the bed, because no, this was absolutely not happening, it was sickening and wrong and—Oh _God_ , he was inside her.

When she felt him trying to slide from beneath her, Delphi had dropped her hips down and let him sink into her so quickly that he hit her cervix so hard she saw stars. She threw her head back at the same time Harry did, a pained noise on her lips. It felt good, so good to have him like this, to have him beneath her and in her and all around in that distinct aura of something wild and dark, but the physical aspect of being so abruptly filled made her wince. The pain was stilted, brief, but she rolled her hips up and back again with little care.

That had to have hurt. Harry knew that it had to, even with her being as aroused as she was, but she was riding him like it was the easiest thing in the world. Harry was gasping, chest caved in. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“Crazy for you,” She cooed, breath strained herself. The pain was gone and it good—brilliant, really, because the physical was great as the mental.

Delphi shifted her hips and it was even better, because she’d managed to hit that spot again, and felt Harry strain not to buck his hips, his teeth indented in his lip in order to withhold his moans.

There was a heady feeling in her chest, something dark and hot and roaring, something that felt strangely like home. To think, that it should come from Harry Potter of all places, this whole feeling. Or, perhaps, not quite whole, but on the precipice of it. A shadow of wholeness that she wanted more of. She wanted him to see and feel and _know_.

“I hated you,” Delphi breathed after a moment. “I hated you so much for taking him from me. Because it hurt to know that I could never know him. Everything felt...cheap, in comparison, to what I could’ve had. It still hurts so _much_.”

Harry jolted when he felt something warm and wet drip onto his chest and slip over his collarbone. He looked up, shocked, to see those dark motley eyes glassy with tears that slid over porcelain cheeks, the frustrated scrunch of her nose, over her lips and cut off her jaw. Delphi’s fists shook against his stomach, and she let out a strangled, rough sound, before her grief stricken face smoothed back out into something bright, a smile on her tear stained lips.

“I was determined to find you, and make your life hell. I started digging in on you, any and everything I could find. If you so much as _sneezed_ , I knew about it.” She swept her tongue across her bottom lip, an absent gesture that somehow caught Harry’s eyes. “But then I saw you. To anyone else, you would’ve been unreadable, but by then I knew everything about you. But I could read you. And the first words that never spoke themselves were the loudest.” She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his shoulder with a sigh. “It hurt you too. A hurt so similar to mine that I couldn’t ignore. You _missed_ him, however much you hated yourself for it. But I had to see for myself, Harry, you understand—and you didn’t disappoint. I accused you of it straight to your face, and you have yet to deny it.” A grin, sharp against his skin, satisfied and sated.

Harry grit his teeth.

Because she was _right_. Harry hadn’t denied it—he couldn’t deny it. Because he did miss it. It was such an unwanted emotion, one that he strangled and shoved and beat into submission every day just so he could feel normal, but it was still there. He would never be normal, however much he wanted it.

This disturbing feeling...It-It felt like getting an extra appendage he hadn’t known he’d had chopped off, only to look around bewilderedly afterwards because, well, it was just _gone_. And it was so confusing because he knew that he still had everything that he needed before—he’d never _used_ that appendage—but it was still that sense of missing something.

Harry had never told anyone about it, and how could he? Nobody would understand. Nobody had the capacity to comprehend that he could possibly want it back.

Delphi could.

It was so wrong, so terribly, terribly horrible of him, and he _hated_ her. Hated her for crashing into his white-picket life and wrenching the deepest, darkest parts of him back to the surface, to bare him to the unforgiving air of the truth. Hated that she was right in the fact that he actually could feel it, however slightly. He could feel it like a pulse of static, a ghost of sensation, buried as deeply inside her as he was. If Voldemort had been fire, then Delphini was smoke, and damn him for it but Merlin, Morgana, and _Mordred_ if he didn’t want to inhale every single bit of her. In this way, he was as depraved as she was.

So he refused to let himself think as he grabbed her arm, hands abruptly freed by some other unknown force, and spun them so that she was beneath him. She let out a strangled gasp and he drank it in as he grasped her hip and rutted into her like an animal. Delphi stared up at him with wide eyes, lips parted, then melted into him, arms hooked around his neck.

Harry’s mind was a wild haze of irrational need and heavy, equally irrational hunger. He panted and growled and swore, unable to stop his hips from jerking forward at a pace that should’ve been painful for his partner. But Delphi just moaned and arched into him, just as lost as he was. They were no longer Harry Potter and Delphini Riddle, but the last two relics of Voldemort’s twisted existence, starved for that feeling of wholeness that still lingered just out of reach.

Delphi gasped and panted as she pushed herself up to slot her mouth against Harry’s. They gasped in each other’s breaths, positively drunken. Delphi hiccuped out a moan and molded her body into Harry’s. “ _Daddy_.”

It should’ve disgusted him, at the very least made him stop, but Harry was no longer Harry. He was a man missing a parasite with no damn room to judge. He snarled and slammed his hips forward in a feral frenzy, those sinful black lips caught in between his teeth. Harry swallowed Delphi’s moan and hissed when she pushed her hips up into his.

“Are you going to fill the hole you left in me, Harry?” She whispered against his lips, a challenge. Eyes the color of summer, the color of grass, the color of emeralds, the color of **murder** , turned on her and she gasped. She clenched around him and shivered. “Oh, sweet _depravity_ ,” She moaned, enthralled, ungodly aroused. She drew her lips to his ear and nipped even as his rough hands scraped down her sides. “Fuck me, Golden Boy.” She hissed, barely English.

Harry’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, mind damn near torn in half by his own morales and his own sick desire, unable to stop his hips at this point. He dropped his head into the crook of Delphi’s neck, panted into her skin, and instinctively sunk his teeth into the muscle connecting her throat and her shoulder. Quidditch worn hands slid around her to grab at her arse and lift her up,callouses and stubble sharp against her skin.

She’d be bruised and raw and ruined by the time he was done, and they were both entranced with the prospect. Delphi with the fact the prophesied man to end her father had dared to leave these marks almost like ownership upon her skin, Harry with the fact that she had let him.

Delphi jerked in his grip with a sudden cry, head tossed back as her entire body locked up, caught in release, her vulva a vice around Harry. His hips stuttered, their feral pistoning slowly ebbing as he sunk himself deep within the vixen and came with a low, strangled moan, vision partially blacked out.

Something hot and dark and right and unbearably _good_ smoothed over his soul, like aloe over a sunburn, or milk against a spiced tongue. He slumped forward against his will, sated and boneless, Delphi’s warmth beneath him too small, too hot, _not enough_ , to be completely satisfied.

Harry fell asleep to the sound of quiet, tinkling laughter, and black nails pressed against his chest just above his traitorous heart.

“ _Sssweet dreams, Harry Potter._ ”

 

Harry woke up in the park beneath, ironically enough, a yew tree. As dread sunk into his stomach and horror began to overtake his mind because _Merlin, Ginny_ , he caught a glimpse of something across the back of his hand. There, written elegantly across the scarred skin—‘ _I must not tell lies_ ’—in electric blue glitter pen…

**I had a whole lot of fun, Golden Boy. Until we meet again, enjoy the feeling of missing something.**

**Author's Note:**

> IT IS BACK UP LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!!


End file.
